103 in the afternoon sunlight.
Death Valley is hotter.
I’m melting, I’m melting. Must be cos I’m a wicked ol’ witch.
I think ‘Merika’ is in danger of becoming Poland.
Something smells like rotten fish, and it’s not the compost pile.
Sunshine dries up the stench of rotting dung. This is a good thing. I’ll try to look on the sunny side of things.